


we'll risk it (we're desperate for someone to trust)

by procrastinatingbookworm



Series: Hello, I'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same? [3]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: (less prominent in this fic but still there), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Gen, M/M, Memory Loss (Mentioned), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, Worldbuilding, everything i touch turns queer and neurodivergent It Just Happens, i didn't write quirrel autistic on purpose but i think it happened anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: Quirrel and Tiso make the journey to Greenpath.
Relationships: Quirrel & Tiso (Hollow Knight), Quirrel/Tiso (Hollow Knight)
Series: Hello, I'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957039
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	we'll risk it (we're desperate for someone to trust)

Quirrel considers leaving his nail in the shore of Blue Lake. He considers it for long enough that Tiso stands up, (even though Quirrel told him more than once not to, to save his strength) wanders over, and asks him if he’s still in there.

Then calls him an idiot, paired with a few of what Quirrel  _ thinks _ are expletives in a language that’s definitely not the Common Wyrm’s Tongue, for even thinking about leaving his weapon behind. 

Charming.

“Look, if you want to mark a metaphorical grave, leave your freaky mask. Dying like a chump because you gave up your perfectly good weapon in order to be dramatic isn’t a ‘peaceful, fitting end’, or whatever you keep rambling about, it’s just leaving another husk free for infection.”

Quirrel blinks at him, somewhere in the realm of startled. “Your accent gets thicker when you’re upset.”

Tiso’s face twists, and he makes a familiar twitching motion with the shoulder of his broken and bound arm. Quirrel’s seen it quite a few times—he figure’s it’s Tiso’s instinctive reaction to smack his problems away. Fittingly defensive, for a warrior with a shield as a weapon.

“You’re not listening to me at all, are you?” Tiso snaps.

Quirrel opens his mouth to deny it, because he might not be  _ processing _ everything Tiso’s saying, but he’s certainly  _ trying _ to listen, when Tiso cuts him off with a frustrated sigh, hikes his shield up his shoulder, and grabs Quirrel by the arm.

“Let’s just go.”

Quirrel follows obediently, more than a little perplexed. Tiso’s been abrasive ever since Quirrel met him, but never quite so…  _ rude. _

Quirrel may be a loner by nature, but he knows better than to prod an angry bug, with a weapon or with words, so he just sheaths his nail, gives the lake a last glance, and lets Tiso pull him onward and away.

They’re halfway through the Resting Grounds, and Tiso’s startled violently into Quirrel’s side at half a dozen things, only a third of them actual threats, when Quirrel tugs him to a stop, sits down on a gravestone, and slips his arm from Tiso’s grip, so he can fold Tiso’s hand in both of his.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, before Tiso can no doubt say the same.

Tiso sighs, staring just past Quirrel’s head for a moment. Quirrel gives him time.

“I’m scared, okay, Q?” Tiso grits out, finally. “I can’t use my shield, I can barely stay on my feet, much less climb or jump, so I’m not sure exactly  _ how _ we’re going to get to Greenpath, and on top of that I have to figure out what to do when we get there, not just with myself but with  _ you _ .”

“I’m not keeping you here,” Quirrel says. 

Tiso’s fingers curl in his grip, but his expression, and his voice, are uncharacteristically soft. “Yes you are, okay? And that’s not a bad thing. It’s just… not something I planned for.”

Quirrel can only nod. 

Tiso laces their fingers together, squeezes, and tugs Quirrel off the grave. “Come on. It’s creepy as the inside of a Wyrm shell here.”

“You said that about Blue Lake, too,” Quirrel teases. He notes that Tiso hasn’t relinquished his hand.

“Try and tell me a bunch of cracked graves are actually serene and beautiful. Go ahead,” Tiso replies.

“It’s soothing to know that at least some of the dead are resting,” Quirrel says, mostly because Tiso asked him to.

Tiso’s antennae twitch.

Quirrel hasn’t had the time to learn exactly what emotions Tiso’s antennae convey—he always kept them under his hood, until the thing fell to scraps while Tiso was trying to wash it.

“Are you always so optimistic?” Tiso asks, interrupting Quirrel’s train of thought.

“Good cheer doesn’t require optimism,” Quirrel replies. “It seems more productive to be realistic and cheerful, as opposed to deluded.”

“If you say so,” Tiso drawls, but he squeezes Quirrel’s hand.

It takes them a while to get to the Stag Station. Tiso isn’t ready to be on his feet, much less hiking across the kingdom. He has to take every platform slowly, using his knees and Quirrel’s shoulder to heft himself up.

While Quirrel rings the bell to summon the Stag, Tiso slumps onto the bench, draping himself over it like a limp Ooma.

“We’d like to go to Greenpath,” Quirrel says, when the Stag Beetle comes to a stop beside the platform.

“How am I meant to get up there?” Tiso grumbles. 

Quirrel turns to him. He realizes that he’s gripping the hilt of his nail and makes himself let go. “We can go back.”

“No,” Tiso says, standing up in a series of jerky movements. “We can’t go back.”

There’s a sound like stone crumbling in slow motion behind Quirrel’s back. He turns, and the Stag is kneeling, low enough to the ground for Tiso to climb on.

Tiso looks, for a moment, like he might cry. He bows to the Stag, hikes up his shield, and drags himself into the Stag’s saddle. It hurts Quirrel to watch.

When Tiso is settled, Quirrel climbs on behind him, wrapping an arm around Tiso’s middle. Tiso, predictably, starts to object, until the Stag gets to its feet.

“Ah, Q,” Tiso starts, suddenly gripping Quirrel’s arm. “I’d rather walk, I think.”

Quirrel pats Tiso’s shoulder with his free hand. “You’ll be alright. The Stags are very reliable transportation.”

Quirrel has no idea how he knows that.

Tiso either believes him, or completely loses his voice to fear when the Stag starts to gallop.

“See?” Quirrel says, helping a trembling Tiso off the Stag’s back. “Not so bad. And easier than walking all the way here.”

“How does the pale thing do that so often?” Tiso mutters, ducking his head so low that it nearly rests on Quirrel’s shoulder. “This kingdom truly is mad.”

“What do you mean by that?” Quirrel asks, stopping for a moment so they can sit on the bench.

“It’s what bugs call this place,” Tiso says, eyes half-shut and antennae still quivering slightly. “The Mad Kingdom. Hardly anyone who goes in comes back out, and anyone who does comes back without a lick of sense or self left.”

Quirrel’s shell prickles, and he carefully shoves that little fact into the corner of his mind. He doesn’t have the time to think on that.

“Let’s keep moving,” he says instead.

He keeps his arm around Tiso as they stand.

They barely make it two steps out of the Stag Station before a Squit dives for them, and Quirrel has to let go of Tiso to cut it out of the air. He hears a thud, but doesn’t turn around until he’s certain they’re safe.

“You really need to stop dropping me,” Tiso whines, sitting up. There’s a leaf stuck in the frills of one of his antennae, and Quirrel can’t breathe for a moment past the affection surging in his chest.

“In my defense, it was in  _ your _ defense,” Quirrel says. He crouches down, plucking the leaf from Tiso’s antennae, fingers barely brushing the frills.

Tiso shivers. “Q,” he mutters, not for any obvious reason, just holding Quirrel’s nickname in his mouth.

Delicately, Quirrel takes his hand.

A Mosscreep chirps.

“We should go,” Tiso says, staring at the ground.

“We should,” Quirrel agrees, but he doesn’t move. He just keeps hold of Tiso’s hand.


End file.
